


Or Even Never

by catness



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catness/pseuds/catness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It was written for a challenge to expand the following hint fiction, called Or Even Longer, into a story. So the first sentence of the story is not mine.</p>
<p>"Together they throw the dirt, listen to its plunk against wood, a sound so unlike anything else in the world, one you could remember forever."</p>
    </blockquote>





	Or Even Never

**Author's Note:**

> It was written for a challenge to expand the following hint fiction, called Or Even Longer, into a story. So the first sentence of the story is not mine.
> 
> "Together they throw the dirt, listen to its plunk against wood, a sound so unlike anything else in the world, one you could remember forever."

Together they throw the dirt, listen to its plunk against wood, a sound so unlike anything else in the world, one you could remember forever.

Josh drops the shovel and straightens up, wiping sweat from his forehead. "One down, three to go."

"Four," says Matt. 

Josh winces. "Well, there's still time."

"Not much. I'd suggest we hurry up."

"They never come before sunrise."

"Yes, but you'll have to finish it off alone."

"I'll manage."

"Probably you will. But the more spare time, the safer."

"All right, let's hurry up." 

Matt moves a few steps to the left and starts to dig a new hole, while Josh strides across the yard to the shack. He returns in a few minutes, dragging a dead body behind him. It leaves a deep track in the dirt, as if a giant slug had passed this way.

Matt raises his head to look at the corpse. "Hey - an arm is missing."

"Damn. Guess it fell off somewhere."

"Can't leave such a big chunk of flesh lying around."

"Of course. I'll go and pick it."

Josh drops the corpse and treads back to the shack, keeping his flashlight pointed at the ground. The cone of light passes over mud, burnt wood, twisted metal scraps and other random wreckage. Eventually it stumbles upon a shapeless lump that hardly resembles any part of a human body. However Josh recognizes it and exclaims: "Got it!"

The corpse itself doesn't look much better. It is swollen out of proportion, with blobs of bare flesh bursting through the ragged skin. There are several gaping wounds on the chest. Killing him was not an easy task; it was lucky they had enough ammo.

Josh tries to stick the severed arm into the empty sleeve of the jacket, but the arm is too swollen to fit. After a few tries he squeezes the arm under the jacket - at least it's all in one place. Then he picks the second shovel and rejoins Matt. Soon the cold ground opens its maw again, waiting for the next serving.

The wooden crate with the Earth Central logo printed across the boards lies nearby. But stuffing the ridiculously bloated corpse inside appears to be a problem. The man is simply too big. The crate was originally meant for equipment, not for human bodies.

"Maybe there's a bigger crate?" suggests Matt.

"No, they're all standard size. I've already checked."

"Damn. We can't leave the crate open. Without the lid, they'll sniff it out in a minute, even under the ground.

"True." Josh looks around, then picks the hammer and weights it experimentally in his hand.

"What you're doing? We can't possibly hammer him to fit, can we?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Oh no, you are not." 

"Any better ideas?"

"We could build a bigger crate."

"We have no time for that. Think of it this way: it's just a heap of infested flesh. Not our teammate anymore, not even a human."

"I know. But still..."

"If it bothers you so much, take a break and go for a stroll." 

"Doesn't make sense to waste time." Matt grabs the shovel and plunges it into the ground with all his force, trying to drown the pounding sounds coming from behind his back. When he's halfway down, Josh joins in. The crate is closed and nailed shut.

***

The last hour before dawn sees them still working. All the graves are filled, covered with soil and meticulously trampled down, to erase any trace of tampering with the ground. Only the last grave remains open, with an empty crate waiting inside.

Both men wipe the sweat and stand still, staring at each other.

Matt breaks the silence. "So that's it," he says, and begins to climb down the hole.

"Wait," says Josh. "Are you sure about the water?"

In response, Matt rolls up his left sleeve and displays his swollen arm, covered with sores. "That's from the river. By now the metabolism is in full swing."

"I don't mean the metabolism. I mean... it's ghastly, to die like that."

"But we have no more ammo. And I don't think that being slammed with a hammer is any less ghastly. The water makes it quick and reliable."

"Well..."

"I'm just a heap of infested flesh. In a few hours, I wouldn't be any different from them. It doesn't matter anymore."

Josh can't think of anything else to say, so he watches how Matt makes himself comfortable inside the crate. Matt is slim and his body fits perfectly. He waves his hand and grins. "Goodbye, Josh. Good luck."

Josh brings the canister and carefully unscrews the lid. He winces when a few drops spill on his hands and evaporate, leaving burn marks. His own infection is not so severe yet, but it's already taking its toll. He balances the canister over the pit, hesitating for a few moments of infinity.

Matt yells from down below: "Come on, let's get it done!"

"Goodbye, Matt." 

The water pours down, bringing about the inhuman howl which rises higher and higher until it turns into almost imperceptible whistle. Josh clenches his teeth, forcing himself to look at the squirming mass below melting into a slimy gelatinous substance which is bubbling as it burns.

When it's over, Josh descends into the hole to finish the job. He says once again "Goodbye, Matt" to the blob of flesh tightly packed inside the crate, and closes the lid.

***

When the ground is smooth and even again, it's already dawn. But the slowly approaching red lights are not from either of the suns.

Josh waits until he is certain that they are coming towards him. They are not intelligent enough - not yet - to figure out where all the missing humans have gone, but their sense of smell is impeccable. Maybe it's not smell but some other sense, incomprehensible to humans. Ever since discovering the danger caused by the alien parasites, the team was busy fighting them, not studying them.

They are close enough to discern individual figures. They are big slugs, size of an average human, with round heads equipped with three long thin antennae, apparently used as eyes. Their gelatinous bodies emit a faint red glow. The effect is eerie, especially when they all stay together.

At first there were just a few of them. They were small and looked funny and harmless. That was before people began getting infected. Horribly swollen body, sores and intolerance to fresh water were bad enough, but the worst of it was that the metamorphosis could be neither reversed nor paused. In the final phase every victim turned into a slug and wandered off to join the rest of their population. 

When humans realized that the only solution was to kill the infected teammates at the first sign of illness, it was too late. The enemies evolved. They became more strong, cunning and intelligent with each ex-human defecting to their ranks, and even with each stolen and devoured corpse. Under laboratory conditions this process could be fascinating. Any xenobiologist would be crazy to get his hands on such an extraordinary life form. But now it looked more like the new life form was going to get its slimy pseudopods on the human civilization, and not stopping at that. A few more bodies, dead or alive, and the aliens might well break the threshold of sentience, repair the crashed human spaceship and escape the planet to start their triumphant conquest of the Universe.

Time to move. Josh grabs the backpack with the climbing gear and sets off to the forest. The slug mob pauses over the burial site, seemingly confused. Their antennae twitch and frantically rotate in all directions. For a moment, he panics. If only they sense the storage of their favorite biomass below the ground, everything is ruined. He's out of ammo and fresh water, and they're resistant to pretty much everything else. He could resort to hand-to-hand combat using a hammer or a knife; but in his experience, dissecting any of those creatures only results in the pieces crawling back together and merging again. And of course, the rest of them will not just stand around and patiently watch the attack. They have already learned to protect their own kin. All for one and one for all.

Fortunately they decide to go for their original target. Which means that he also can stick to his original plan without having to worry about the secret cemetery. It remains safely hidden and will be soon forgotten, because in several hours, dependent on how fast he can walk, there will be no more humans on this planet. He delves into the thicket, followed by the glowing sea of almost-sentient jelly.

***

He had expected them to move slower. After crossing the forest, he is already exhausted - and there's still a mountain to climb. Or it's simply the infection messing up with his bodily functions? His feet are full of sores, and every step is accompanied with an irritating squishing sound. He gets rid of the boots; paradoxically, walking barefoot is easier, even though the ground is hard and rocky. His throat is parched, but water is off limits. Besides, he doesn't have any. He observes the slugs crawling over a short bushy tree and stripping it bare, and follows their example. The leaves taste bitter but bring temporary relief from thirst.

He can't stop and take a rest because they would immediately try to surround him. So he climbs up and up, his deformed fingers sticking to the rock surface - not like glue but more like suction cups. He suspects that's how the slugs are able to climb so fast and easily, even gracefully. An ideal life form indeed - robust, suited to any landscape, utilizing any source of nutrition except fresh water. Possibly, given enough time, they would learn to neutralize whatever causes the poisoning. But he doesn't intend to give them this time.

Finally Josh reaches the plateau and catches his breath. There, precariously perched on the edge, he waits, listening to the mountain stream rolling its waters far below. No more climbing; the last stretch of his path will be carried out by the gravity. Matt had ascertained the chemical composition of the water a couple of days ago. The instinct of self-preservation would not allow the creatures get any close to the river, even in pursuit of their prey, but they would not recognize the danger from high above. At least, they should not. Perhaps it was all in vain, they are too smart to take the bait?

But if anything, they appear more enthusiastic. Their antennae are wiggling, their glow brightens. He can smell their odor. It's not unpleasant, not animal at all, more like seaweed. Their pseudopods are pointed at him as they approach. His fear subsides; in fact, he had never felt as peaceful and serene as right now, and he's really looking forward to the first contact. The glowing mass reminds him on Christmas lights - long ago, at home, in another life - and he feels like a child again, anticipating the upcoming wonder.

This is easier than he thought. The fingers of his outstretched hand meet the warm gelatinous mass and merge with it. They penetrate each other until they become one whole. Now he can't pull his arm out without cutting it off. The slug's body continues to envelop his arm, and with every centimeter of his flesh disappearing inside, the feeling of serenity multiplies tenfold. He had never imagined it would be so pleasant. He can hear a chorus of vague voices on the brink of his consciousness - they whisper to him, welcoming him home. His identity begins to dissolve, joining the melting pot of togetherness. This is the ultimate team, family, friends and tribe, all in one. Never alone anymore, no more worries, no more problems. Just the peace and unity, perfect love and perfect trust. This is what heaven is supposed to be like.

But he is still a human, and he still has a choice.

His mind breaks through the fog of euphoria and he makes a step back while his legs are still intact. For a moment he hangs in the air with his arm stretched over the edge of the plateau, but the slug is not strong enough to hold his weight. It tumbles over, and they both plummet down. The rest of the hive mind follows the suit - all for one and one for all. A long fall would never harm them; in the worst case, their physical bodies would remix and reassemble.

There's just one thing they do not expect - the current of death waiting for them below.

The river cuddles him in its deadly embrace. All the alien cells in his body burst into flames, or so it feels. It becomes a million times worse when he is submerged deep in the water under the weight of dozens of them, and still falling down. They do not transmit love and serenity anymore. Now there's only fear and mortal agony, reflecting from every mind cell to every other one and back, it's all-consuming. And underneath the collective cry of pain, there is a desperate question: "Why?!"

You would be happy. We would be happy. The universe would be us. The universe would be happy. Forever or even longer. Why did you kill us? Why?

Because I am a human. 

Their cells disintegrate, releasing a huge amount of energy which heats the water until it boils; now there is no contradiction between drowning and burning. He can't hold his breath any longer and the inferno plunders his lungs. A torturous death is not too high a price to evade the trap of eternal bliss.

The hive mind dissolves, leaving a bunch of innocent amoebas dispersed all around the river bank. Perhaps in a million years they will evolve again and seek another chance to assimilate the universe into the paradise.

But hopefully the humankind will be still around, and still on guard, not ready for unconditional happiness, not just yet. Or even never.


End file.
